Given: you and me, represented by the variables Y and M. Y is subject to change, and M is a constant. We are equal to the sum of Y and M.
Given: our lips, represented by the variables L sub yours and L sub mine. Electricity is equal to the sum of L sub y and L sub m. Electricity is equal to euphoria. By the transitive property, the sum of our lips is happiness. Kissing you is happiness.
How much I am attached to you is represented by the variable A. A is equal to the quantity of all the times you make me laugh, plus how many songs are on the playlist you made me, multiplied by how many times I couldn’t stop myself from kissing you in public.
My paranoia that you will leave, represented by P, steadily increases at the same rate as my attachment to you. The volume of the box I isolate myself within is equal to l times w times h. If my anxiety fills my body at the rate of 3 m2/second, how long will it take for me to have an emotional breakdown?
Heartache is equal to the difference of Y and M, and it is represented by H. H increases when it is multiplied by how many days we spent together, multiplied by how many of my friends approved of you, multiplied by how many of your sweatshirts are still in my bedroom, multiplied by how many “text me when you get home safely”s we sent, multiplied by how many times you called me beautiful.
In conclusion, nostalgia markedly increases H.
H reduces when it is divided by the elapsed time in days since H occurred. At some point, the total H reaches zero. A new Y may take its predecessor’s place, and, the algorithm may be used again. But maybe that’s too much math. After all, M is a constant. M is the only thing I need to exist. After all the relentless calculation, maybe a Y doesn’t belong in the equation after all.